


Sneak!

by sheafrotherdon



Series: A Farm in Iowa 'Verse [26]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe, Community: casa_mcshep, Kid Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-15
Updated: 2009-12-15
Packaged: 2017-10-11 22:10:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/117640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheafrotherdon/pseuds/sheafrotherdon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which John is a sneak.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sneak!

John Sheppard is a sneak – a world-class sneaky, sneaking, sneakiest sneaky thing. A man might leave him in bed, lazily reading a back issue of National Geographic – and why the hell do they have back issues of National Geographic in their house? Did John Sheppard steal it from the doctor's office? The dentist's? Is this one of those projects where Ada Gunderson thinks everyone needs their horizons broadened and starts leaving _People_ magazine and _Everyday Vegan Dishes_ on the porch, as if the fact that it's _People_ magazine and _Everyday Vegan_ doesn't give away her dastardly culpability? – and the next said man might be brushing his teeth with a towel tucked around his waist, humming a very passable version of 'California Dreaming' thank you very much and realize John Sheppard is leaning against the bathroom doorway in a pair of boxers that suggest a trip to Target for some underwear that isn't see-through from repeated washings might be in order. And John Sheppard would have _sneaked_ there.

John Sheppard might then, as he's doing this morning, lollygag his way across the bathroom tile and press a warm, bare chest against the back of the man with the toothbrush in his mouth – in a sneaky fashion, you understand, that would leave the tooth-brushing sort in this scenario completely unmanned – and then drag a fingertip up the line of hair emerging from beneath the tooth-brusher's towel, tracing it up toward his navel. At which point the tooth-brusher might get a little distracted and drool a little toothpaste, all while John Sheppard murmurs, "Just learned this is your pubic extension."

Pubic extension is utter-bastard dirty talk, the kind that can make a man glazed-eyed and gurgling, and the drag of blunt nails back toward that towel can never help matters much. Men previously known to be brushing their teeth might find their toothbrush clattering to the basin, and their towel getting tugged from their hips by John Sheppard's sneaky fingers. And if a man found himself leaning back into John Sheppard's body heat, mumbling something incomprehensible as John Sheppard's hand does something slick and twisty and sneaky to the newly attentive parts of a man's shower-damp body, well said man probably had a point once upon a time, but it's sneakily gone into hiding, cause John Sheppard's giving him a hand job right in front of the mirror and . . . nffffff, graarrrm, puh puh, mmmmmmmmmph.

Or something.

Sneaky sneakable sneakiest sneak.


End file.
